


Not All Lies Can Be Sold

by Drag0nst0rm



Series: Not All Stories [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU of an AU, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, And those secrets are coming out, Dark, Gen, Hobbits have secrets, Or at least no one named, but it gets lighter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 00:22:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11955810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drag0nst0rm/pseuds/Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Secrets always come out eventually.





	Not All Lies Can Be Sold

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I'm supposed to working on Family of Choice and Chance and my original fiction. But this has been rattling around in my head for over a year, so I wasn't going to let it slip away when I finally cornered it.
> 
> PLEASE NOTE: This is an AU of the previous chapter with the AU element being that in this one, Thorin, Kili, and Fili are all very much alive and kicking.

When they'd first found the elvish swords in the troll cave, Bilbo had worried. They'd all glowed faintly blue, and for a moment, he'd been quite sure that Gandalf was about to turn around and denounce him as no better than an orc.

Then they'd been attacked by actual orcs, and Bilbo had breathed a sigh of relief before really focusing on the fact that _orcs were attacking_ and promptly panicking again.

The swords never stopped glowing after that, not entirely, but fortunately, everyone assumed it just meant that the orcs were never far behind.

And if Bilbo's glowed a little stronger than everyone else's, well . . . Who would know?

(Bilbo. Bilbo knew. And he couldn't help wondering whether the sword glowed because it recognized his heritage or because it knew there was something dark, deep within.)

 

Between that and his confession to two unconscious princes after the final battle, it would have been understandable if it was assumed that if anyone were to blame for the long held secret coming out, it would be him.

It wasn't though. He was quite sure of that.

Or. Well. Mostly sure. Fili had shifted in his sleep just as Bilbo finished the tale, and he had fled both the room and the mountain just as fast as he respectably could.

Still. It wasn't the dwarves who came chasing a large party of orcs uncomfortably close to the Shire. It wasn't the dwarves whose swords had glowed blue long after the orcs were dead. It wasn't the dwarves, and whatever the dwarves did or didn't know, Bilbo was quite sure of one thing:

They wouldn't have told the elves.

 

He wasn't there when it happened. Later, he wondered if he could have done something if he had been.

It wasn't the first time elves had encountered hobbits while the elves were armed, of course. Not the first time at all.

But the elves had gone deeper into the Shire than usual in an effort to make sure they got every last orc, and it was the first time elvish weapons had been around so very many hobbits at once.

It hadn't been a minor glow. Not that time.

Perhaps it still could have been salvaged. If the Thain had been there, if Bilbo had been there, if anyone capable of keeping their head had been there.

But every fauntling knew what would happen if they were someday caught. That fear was engrained from day one.

So - something. He still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. No one wanted to be the one to take the blame for the disaster.

Maybe someone had seen the glow and started to run. Maybe someone had babbled out an entirely unconvincing explanation. Maybe someone had broken down and told the truth.

And maybe, if the leader of the expedition had been Elrond or his like, things could have been talked over. Maybe if he hadn't been the elvish equivalent of a young hothead, or hadn't hated orcs as much as he had, or whatever the elvish commander's reasoning had been, then maybe . . .

Maybe. But it hadn't turned out that way, and there was no use crying over spilled milk now.

Not that they had any milk. Or much of anything to eat, for that matter.

Because one minute, most hobbits had been going around their quiet lives.

And the next, Bilbo had understood what his friends had meant when they sang of fire.

 

Here's a riddle Bilbo would have liked to have posed: How can one hobbit, equipped with one mithril shirt, the One Ring of power that he's really not supposed to be using, and one sword that's really more like a letter opener, be effective against a rampaging hoard of elvish calvary?

He really would rather like an answer to that.

 

Proposed answer: If he resists the urge to put on the One Ring, then he can't.

He can, however, attract a crowd of other hobbits to him on the basis that he looks as if he knows what he's doing.

Which means that when he realizes that some dragons can't be fought head on and runs, he can lead them on a retreat to safer ground.

All the ones that manage to avoid elvish arrows, that is.

 

How many hobbits escaped the purging of the Shire?

There wasn't a clean answer to that. Not for a long time.

How many managed to hide? How many followed Bilbo? How many ran in other directions? If they escaped for a time but then were lost, do they count? How long do they have to have survived before they can be said to have escaped?

Numbers were difficult. The general answer was easy:

Too few.

Unless, of course, you modified the question and asked Bilbo: How many hobbits do you have to feed?

Then the answer was - grudgingly -

Too many.

 

Bilbo was hungry. They were all hungry. Even foraging as only hobbits could had turned up far too little to be eating. Most of the group had already lost their pleasant plumpness. Bilbo didn't want to think of just how thin they all might get.

"What are we going to do, Mister Bilbo?" Hamfast asked in a low voice.

Bilbo looked hopelessly around the pitiful camp where hobbits drooped around tiny fires with what few possessions they'd managed to drag this far beside them. Few were talking. Most of the children were crying.

Any other attack, and they could have run to Bree, but Bree's thin walls couldn't hold back the elves. Any other attack too great for Bree and they could have run to the house of Elrond, but. Well.

Maybe Elrond wouldn't approve when he heard. Maybe they really would have been safe there.

But the dwarves and elves would become bosom friends before Bilbo would risk it.

Not Elrond's. Not Thranduil's by the same token.

They might be safe at Beorn's, but there were far more than thirteen here, even if there were still far too few. They couldn't trespass on his hospitality forever, and if he ever learned the truth . . . Bilbo shuddered.

No. But Erebor . . .

Erebor had enough room. And after the dragon's devastation, Erebor had enough work. They could easily make themselves useful turning the devastated land to something farmable again. Erebor was strong enough to stand up to just about anything.

Assuming, of course, that Thorin would let them in.

That was the big if. Thorin had said something that sounded like an apology right before the healers swarmed him, but there was a bit of a difference between a desire not to die with bad blood between them and a willingness to let a one time traitor back into your mountain once you realized you were going to live.

Of course, Thorin might be over that. Might understand Bilbo's reasoning. Might even feel grateful.

Bilbo would know if he hadn't oh so foolishly spilled everything to the king's nephews and then had to deal with the realization that at least one of them might have actually heard him. He'd gotten out of there before Thorin had woken up. He only knew the king had pulled through because he'd lurked at the edges of Laketown for days until the news was sure.

Still, Thorin could empathize with their plight, and even if he wouldn't let Bilbo stay, surely he could have no objection to the others.

Surely.

Unless, of course, Fili had heard Bilbo's foolish confession and had spread the tale to his uncle.

In which case, Erebor would be a death trap.

But surely Fili would just have dismissed it as a fever dream. Surely Bilbo had just been overreacting. And if the dwarves didn't already know the truth from Bilbo's own lips, then there was no one Bilbo trusted more to ignore whatever the elves might tell them about the incident.

Erebor was their best chance. Possibly their only chance.

"Mr. Bilbo?" Hamfast prompted nervously.

"Erebor," Bilbo said with a firmness he hadn't quite talked himself into feeling. "We're going to Erebor."

Assuming, of course, they could make it past the giant spiders, remnants of the orc army, elvish kingdom, and elvish pursuers along the way.

 

Question: How long can young fauntlings go without eating?

Question: How long can young, frail fauntlings who have not been eating nearly enough survive cold nights?

Question: If you are still possibly being pursued by elvish cavalry and you only have one shovel, do you have time to stop and dig three very small graves?

 

For weapons, they have:

One shovel.

One sword. (More of a letter opener, really.)

Three bounders' clubs.

Four ladles.

One meat knife.

One bread knife.

Two butter knives.

Four skillets.

And Lobelia Sackville-Baggins's umbrella.

Bilbo is growing increasingly impressed with that umbrella.

 

For enemies, they have:

A band of orcs. (Fled from. Five orcs killed. Three by Bilbo, one by the bounders, one by Lobelia. Ten hobbits dead.)

A band of goblins. (Fled from. Fifteen goblins killed. Five by Bilbo, six by the bounders, four by Lobelia. Eight hobbits dead.)

A band of elves. (Bilbo thinks they've escaped them now. That doesn't stop two more hobbits from succumbing to their wounds.)

A band of spiders. (Fled from. Ten spiders killed. Three by Bilbo, one by Hamfast, three by the bounders, and three by Lobelia.)

(Bilbo is reluctantly impressed by Lobelia.)

 

For enemies, they also have:

The increasingly cold nights.

The increasingly hard to find food.

The mountains they have to cross.

The river in Mirkwood.

They lose hobbits to those, too.

 

It was too much to hope that they could get through Mirkwood unnoticed. Bilbo had known that, but he'd hoped anyway.

There was one bit of grace. The patrol that found them was led by Tauriel.

Tauriel looked at the long line of bedraggled hobbits whose bones poked out and who looked at her out of hollow eyes. A mere moment later, she was looking at a bedraggled circle of hobbits, who stood fiercely around their remaining children and who held a quivering mass of improvised weapons.

"Hello, again," Bilbo said in a forcibly cheerful voice. He waved from his position at the front of the circle.

Tauriel's hand was on her sword, but she didn't draw it. "I hear strange rumors of your people of late." Her eyes searched Bilbo's face.

Bilbo shrugged wearily. "All I've heard lately is my stomach rumbling."

It was meant to be a joke. Judging by the grief on Tauriel's face as she surveyed the group, she didn't take it as one.

"I suppose you still have orders to take strangers to your king?" Bilbo said tentatively. "Only, we were planning to head onward, and we're in a bit of a rush . . . "

Tauriel didn't know what was going on. She certainly wasn't sure which rumors to believe. She did know that Thranduil would almost certainly wish to see this odd group.

But his orders did specify strangers. And, "You are no stranger to these woods, Bilbo Baggins." She stepped aside. "If you have no wish to tarry in the hospitality of our halls, we will not keep you." 

She wished she could do more, but she hadn't nearly enough food to give to starving group before her.

Bilbo's shoulders dipped in relief. "That I am not."

The hobbits passed on.

Tauriel couldn't help noticing how many flinched back from the elves as they passed.

 

They were close now. So close Bilbo could almost taste it.

"Right," he said firmly, looking out over the group. "I know back home there isn't much call for formality with the mayor or the Thain, but kings are different. There's a few things you need to know for the sake of good manners."

The other hobbits nodded. Kings might be a subject foreign to them, but even half-starved and half a world away from home, they still understood good manners.

Bilbo didn't think they'd get thrown out of the throne room for forgetting to use the proper forms, but, well, they were going to be guests, and guests making a pretty large request at that. Better to have all their bases covered.

 

"Where to from here?" Lobelia demanded, leaning on her now dreaded umbrella.

Bilbo examined the land. "Follow the road, I suppose."

"You suppose? You _suppose?_ I thought you'd been this way before."

"Well, last time I went down the river holding onto a barrel," he snapped. "I didn't want to try that again."

"Hmph."

Bilbo refrained from telling her that at least this time there was a road. When they'd been traveling over the mountains through the parts where last time he'd been fighting for his life in a goblin city and then carried by eagles, he'd been genuinely afraid of getting them as lost as Thorin in the Shire.

_No, bad thought. Don't think of the Shire._

_Don't think of those nasty elves that ought to burn for what they did -_

"Your turn to take the ring, Hamfast," he said loudly.

Hamfast groaned but reluctantly took it.

They hadn't had the time to decide what to do with the Ring before the Shire had been attacked. Once they were settled, they'd need to decide that.

And in the meantime, they'd have to try and keep it away from the dwarves. They would not be repeating the Arkenstone incident, thank you very much.

 

If they'd had money, Bilbo would have taken them through the newly rebuilt Laketown or the beginnings of the reconstruction of Dale. They could have gotten something to eat before the final plunge.

But they'd spent what little money they had on them in towns of men long ago, so Bilbo circled around the towns and pressed grimly on.  
Erebor. The place he'd nearly died to save and on two separate journeys nearly died trying to get to.

It looked different than he remembered. More full of life, for one thing, with a steady stream of traffic flowing in and out. In better condition, for another; the dwarves, unsurprisingly, had been busy.

Work didn't look completely done yet, though. Well, that was understandable. Fixing up the Lonely Mountain would be a massive undertaking. No doubt making the place livable had been a higher priority than making sure all the carvings on the outer gate were in tip-top condition.

It seemed, however, that clean up had progressed well enough that the gates were now a priority. As Bilbo trudged closer, he could see scaffolding pinning the traffic in closer than it would usually be and workers crawling all around it. A few better dressed dwarves supervised the proceedings from the ground.

The other hobbits bunched closer together as they approached the massive statuary that framed the gateway. They kept their shoulders up as best they could, though, determined to make a good showing of themselves.

They drew some attention as they marched through. There might be only a few dozen left now, but that was still a few dozen more than had ever been seen by these dwarves before -

"Bilbo!"

\- or most of these dwarves, at least.

. . . And that wasn't just any dwarf.

That was Thorin.

Bilbo gulped.

The crowd quickly parted for the king as he hurried forward, Balin and Dwalin close behind.

Bilbo braced himself for shouting. Or demanding questions. Or, considering the way Thorin was still barreling forward, possibly physical violence.

Then, for the second time in their acquaintance, Thorin caught him in a bone crushing hug.

Bilbo rocked back from the force of it and, light as he'd gotten recently, probably would have fallen over if Thorin's arms weren't still wrapped around him. After a bewildered moment, he raised his own arms and awkwardly returned the hug.

"Let him go, Thorin, the rest of us want to see him too," Balin said good-naturedly.

Thorin did, although he kept his hands on Bilbo's shoulders. His initial beam of delight was short lived.

Unfortunate, that. That split second had been one of the happiest expressions Bilbo had ever seen on Thorin.

It clouded quickly, however, as Thorin's more thorough examination of Bilbo revealed, well. Everything.

The way the mithril shirt hung on him even more loosely than before. The wound on his arm that they'd had to bind with one of his sleeves. The very evident fact that he'd been wearing only one set of clothes for a very long time and that there was no pack on his back.

And, of course, the terrified group of hobbits behind him who all bobbed hasty bows.

Judging by the look in his eyes, for just a second there it wasn't the present Thorin was seeing.

Then he was back. "What happened?" he demanded, hands tightening on Bilbo's shoulders.

"It's a long story," Bilbo said wearily. "And one perhaps better told elsewhere." He swayed a bit as he spoke.

"Of course. Balin, find a place for them and make sure there's food and plenty of it." Thorin turned back to Bilbo. "When you've rested, we can talk."

Now if only he could figure out what on earth he was going to say.

 

A bath, a meal, and a nap late, Bilbo was out of time, and apparently his private meeting with Thorin had turned into a reunion with the entire company.

He was going to have to add bruised ribs to his injury count after this.

On the plus side, it was looking less and less likely Thorin was going to throw him out of the mountain.

When things finally quieted down, Thorin turned to Bilbo, both questions and a dark promise clear on his face.

Bilbo sighed. His chest suddenly felt heavy and tight. He'd never had to actually tell the story before.

"The Shire - " he started before choking up and starting again. "It's - burned. Gone. We were attacked, and, well. We're not warriors. You remember how I was at the start of the quest."

Dwalin let out a low growl. "Who?"

"And why come this way?" Balin asked.

"Hey!" Kili protested.

Balin waved the protest off. 'That's not what I meant and you know it. It's a long and dangerous journey to Erebor from the Shire. It couldn't have been easy."

"No," Bilbo admitted. "We lost - too many."

The dwarves knew that story all too well, he knew. They'd lived it.

"Elves wouldn't help, eh?" Gloin said bitterly. "Two faced as they come."

Kili looked like he'd have liked to protest that but didn't quite dare.

And - he could say that. He could just say that Elrond had refused to help. The dwarves would believe him without question.

But he owed them better than that. So, twisting his hands, he admitted the truth.

"We didn't dare to ask them," he said quietly. "Seeing as how they were the ones doing the attacking."

The whole room erupted into an outraged uproar. Thorin was the only one not to speak though the dark promise was clearer than ever on his face.

"They found out," Thorin finally said, his quiet voice cutting through the noise.

Bilbo winced. "Fili told you."

"And Kili." Thorin's lips twitched in what any other day might have been the beginnings of a smile. "If there's one thing my nephews are good at, it's feigning sleep."

Bilbo closed his eyes, The secret was out. After all this time and all their caution, it was finally out. "And the others . . . ?"

"I might have overheard something," Nori admitted.

"So then of course everyone knew," Dori said wryly.

"Chin up, lad," Balin said bracingly. "We none of us asked to get made. We just do our best with what we're given."

"Besides," Fili said brightly. "It means you're practically a dwarf."

"By that logic, I'm also practically an elf," Bilbo pointed out.

Fili waved this fact off as unimportant.

Balin turned matters back to practicalities. "Ered Luin's close enough. They might have gotten refugees."

"And if not are close enough to go down and take a look," Thorin agreed. "I'll send a raven today."

Bilbo slumped with relief. "You'll help, then?"

"Of course we'll help!" Kili said indignantly.

"You'll helped us get our home back," Bofur said firmly. "It's time we returned the favor."

 

Question: How far will dwarves go for kith and kin?

Answer: However far it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This . . . might be getting another sequel. We'll see.
> 
> So I'm sorry for making the elves the antagonists in this. I don't actually hate the elves, but I needed to have them be the problem to get the story to work.
> 
> You see, back when I was reading my way through all the gen Hobbit fic I could get my hands on over at archive, I got a craving for a Bilbo-and-large-group-of-hobbits run to Erebor for help story. I only found one, and it wasn't quite what I was looking for.  
> Then I looked at a map of Middle Earth, remembered canon, and realized why: The journey is long, hard, and dotted with other places to stop. Like Elrond's place. Or Thranduil's.
> 
> So I needed a reason the hobbits wouldn't go to the elves. I came up with two:
> 
> One, if a Silmaril was involved. One was thrown into the sea after all, and I can totally see some adventuring Took going, "Oh! Pretty," and taking it home. Three generations later it's in the Mathom House and the hobbits agree, yes, it's pretty, but they don't particularly care.
> 
> Two, this AU. I'd been wanting to do something for this AU again, so I thought I'd pursue that idea.


End file.
